The Uzumaki Legacy

Agonized Heart

Shisui's POV

Through the sterile white corridors of Konoha Hospital, I find myself pacing again, my Sharingan unconsciously activating and deactivating with each surge of anxiety. The memory of her blood staining the forest floor refuses to leave my mind – how many times have I relived that moment now? The way she fell, like a crimson autumn leaf, her violet eyes wide with shock and something deeper... something broken.

The sunset streams through the hospital windows, painting the walls in the same cruel shade of red that covered my hands as I carried her back to the village. My fingers unconsciously clench, still feeling the phantom weight of her limp body against my chest, her usually vibrant chakra signature flickering like a dying flame.

"You need to rest, Shisui," Shima says softly from her chair, her own exhaustion evident in the shadows under her eyes. She spent nearly every ounce of her chakra keeping Hana alive during our desperate journey home. But I can't rest – not when every time I close my eyes, I see those metal shards piercing through her, see her falling, see her...

"I should have been faster," I whisper, more to myself than to Shima. "My Sharingan saw his chakra building for that final attack. If I'd just moved a fraction of a second sooner..."

The truth is, I've always watched Hana. How could I not? The way her chakra moves when she uses her sensory abilities, like ripples in a clear pond. The subtle shift in her expression when she picks up a new chakra signature – the slight furrow of her brow, the delicate parting of her lips. Even now, standing outside her hospital room, I can sense her chakra – weak but steady, like a distant star refusing to be extinguished.

Orochimaru-sensei's report to the Hokage keeps replaying in my mind: "The enemy knew her parents." Those words have changed everything. I've seen how Hana's smile always held a shadow of grief when she spoke of her family, how she would sometimes stand before the memorial stone for hours, her fingers tracing names only she could see. Now, knowing there might be more to their deaths than we were told...

A nurse exits her room, and I automatically step forward, my Sharingan scanning for any change in Hana's condition. The medical ninja have done their work well – the worst of her physical wounds are healed. But I know better than anyone that the deepest wounds aren't always visible to the eye.

"She's strong," Shima says, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "Stronger than any of us knew."

I nod, but my eyes don't leave the door. I remember the first time I saw her strength, during our early training days. How she could track thirty different chakra signatures simultaneously, mapping out entire battle scenarios in her mind. How she never complained, never gave up, even when exhaustion made her hands shake and her nose bleed from the strain of her sensory abilities.

But it's not just her strength that draws me. It's the gentle way she alerts us to approaching danger, as if she's apologizing to the very air for revealing its secrets. It's how she hums softly while preparing her kunai, an unconscious habit she probably doesn't even realize she has. It's the way her red hair catches the sunlight during training, like living flame.

"You should tell her," Shima says quietly, a knowing look in her honey-colored eyes.

But how can I? How can I tell her that my Sharingan memorizes every detail of her movements  because each gesture is precious to me?

Instead, I maintain my vigil outside her door, my heart beating in sync with the steady pulse of her chakra signature. When she wakes – and she will wake – she'll need allies in her search for the truth. And I'll be there, ready to help her uncover whatever secrets led to this moment, ready to protect her from whoever might try to keep those secrets buried.

Because some things are worth protecting, worth fighting for. And Hana is worth everything.